100 Years
by vontramp
Summary: Telling the story of Britanna through the song 100 Years by Five for Fighting.


**A/N: I own nothing more than a crappy laptop and a penchant for making my best friend cry with my fics apparently. So no, I do not in fact own Glee, any of it's characters or actors, or the at times lacking story lines. Additionally, I do not own the lyrics to the songs included, nor do I own the band members as my personal slaves.**

/b

_I'm 15 for a moment_

_Caught in between 10 and 20_

_And I'm just dreaming_

_Counting the ways to where you are  
_

Sweat pooled at the tips of my fingers, and if I didn't keep moving, I was almost positive that I would end up in the middle of the hallway standing in a puddle of my own insecurities. Wrapping my arms closely to my chest, I finally brought my eyes up from the floor, sneaking a glance at the long blonde locks that were my destination.

"Hi," my voice barely audible, my vocal chords shaking from the effort that monosyllabic word took.

"Hey," I heard, the soft voice gracing my ears, and the calm tones floating inside to coat every inch of my emotionally wracked body. The single word slowed my overzealous heart's beats and stilled my quivering hands.

"Can we talk?"

"But we never do that."

_She's right you know. You keep her at arm's length, and push her away when she steps just an inch too close. You have used every possible excuse to tell the both of you that you don't love her, so why should she keep trying? You've given her no solid reason to believe this is anything more than physical, and honestly, is it? I thought it was better without feelings? Without eye contact?_

My mind was racing through a perpetual cycle of what ifs while my teeth, tongue, and lips acted of their own accord, spilling every thought I had toward the beautiful woman standing just inches away from me. I tucked my arms more closely into my body, thinking that perhaps they could shield my heart from spilling out onto the linoleum floors, flooding the hallways and classrooms and sidewalks with every emotion I had held in for days, weeks, months, perhaps even years.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" I paused, my voice hitching at the end, without my meaning it to. Normally I was in control of every stimulus my body provided the world, but faced with this, with all of the weight that this held, I was incapable of holding my voice steady, my eyes dry, or my fingers still. Freckled face scrunched, eyes clouded, the blonde shook her head. "I want to be with you, but I'm afraid of the talks and the looks."

Enormously supportive, with a hint of humor to lighten the mood, she replied with words that could not have held more truth. She knew me better than I knew myself, and typically that combination brought me back from a head full of tormenting thoughts, but today, in this moment, I was too afraid, too far gone to be brought back from where my mind had dragged me.

" I know, but I'm so afraid of what everyone will say behind my back. Still, I have to accept that I love you. I love you, and I don't want to be with Sam, or Finn, or any of those other guys. I just want you. Please say you love me back. Please," the pleading in my voice evident, as hard as I fought to contain it.

"Of course I love you, I do!" The pain constricted in my chest eased for a split second, before the lips I'd captured time and time again, albeit without much thought, continued on. "And I would totally be with you if it wasn't for Artie."

"Artie?" The walls I'd cast down, brick by brick, flew back into being, the glue holding them together stronger than before. _What did I tell you? Why would you think she would be with you? You've never given her a reason to believe she was more than just another proverbial notch in your bed post. You held her when she was convenient, when someone else wasn't there to ease the sting of these feelings you've fought. Why would she do that for you? She owes you nothing._

"I love him too. I don't want to hurt him – that's not right. I can't break up with him." With innocence only Brittany could possess, could clasp with such strength, she thought of others, while I thought solely of myself, and how long it had taken to say the words that I had.

"Yes, you can! He's just a stupid boy."

"But it wouldn't be right. Santana, you have to know, if Artie and I were to ever break up, and I'm lucky enough that you're still single, I'm so yours. Proudly so." Pulling me in, physically, while emotionally she threw me to the ground, I pushed back harder than I ever had, in both senses. _She won't ever be yours. Just admit it to yourself. You lost her. You lost her because you're a coward, and you won't ever have her again.  
_

_I'm 22 for a moment_

_She feels better than ever_

_And we're on fire_

_Making our way back from Mars_

I sat quietly, hands clasped, squirming slightly. The fitted black dress I wore cut off mid-thigh, and I could feel the scratchiness of the chair beneath me tickling the back of my legs, as my heart pounded, awaiting the fluid sweep of the curtains no more than fifty feet in front of me. A warm hand found mine, the other placed upon my bouncing knee, a nervous habit I had always possessed but was largely unaware of until someone pointed it out. I looked to my right, into sparkling blue eyes that hit me like a wave, urging my hypersensitive body to come to a more comfortable rest.

"Santana, she's been preparing for this moment her entire life, she'll be fine," a soft voice whispered into my ear. I nodded.

"I know Mrs. P. I'm always a hundred times more nervous than she is. It's a habit," I said, a self-deprecating tone flooding my words. Brittany was always calm before a performance; she had no qualms about spilling her heart out to the audience in front of her, no matter if it were two or two thousand individuals. The stage was her home.

I heard the familiar squeak of pulleys, and my eyes flicked forward out of habit, searching the stage for a flash of blonde hair accompanied by legs for miles and a contented smile that never wavered. After sitting through several group performances and solos, she was the finale – ending the show with remarkable beauty that could not be surpassed.

As the lights rose, my breath caught in my chest. She stood center stage, a fitted white bodice flowing into a skirt that fell just above her knees. I could, after watching her dance so many times, see the buzzing of her limber form, her muscles aching with anticipation, though she stood quite still. Light guitar strains filled the auditorium, and those blue eyes I'd fallen into over and over again fluttered shut, as my chest tightened a bit more. I realized now that I knew the song, but in true Brittany fashion, she had refused to give me even an inkling as to what her performance consisted of beforehand.

_You're the direction I follow to get home_

_When I feel like I can't go on, you tell me to go_

_And it's like I can't feel a thing without you around_

_And don't mind me if I get weak in the knees_

_'cause you have that effect on me, you do_

Her body flitted from one side of the stage to the other, comparable only to the way the wind caresses the wings of a bird, supporting each feather, allowing it to glide without fear of falling, to move without effort, to capture a bit of magic that was difficult to understand, and thus, incredibly beautiful. Brittany dancing was just that – magic.

Though I would not admit it to anyone, much less to myself, the performance brought me near tears. She knew precisely where we were seated, and I could catch glances out of the corner of her eyes in our direction as she twisted, tumbled, and flew. This song, this dance, those lyrics were a string tying our hearts together, tugging me more closely toward her body, to her love, to every dream and hope we had ever built, both together and separately.

_Unconditional, unoriginal_

_Always by my side_

_Meant to be together_

_Meant for no one but each other_

_You love me, I love you harder so_

I hadn't realized that Brittany's mother had not yet let go of my hand, and she squeezed it reassuringly, as I had started shaking again. Without either of us looking away from the stage, we held a silent conversation through our fingers, her support evident through each minute movement.

Her thumb grazed the back of my hand. _This is your time_. I flinched gently. _But what if it's wrong? _She more resolutely intertwined our fingers. _It is more right than any other thing. _I brushed against her second longest finger, warily. _What if she doesn't think so? _My hand is swallowed in warmth and pressure. _She does._

I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding, as I more readily focused on the beauty commanding the stage and every person in front of her. I knew her song was nearly over, and I pleaded with the gods to allow it to continue, to provoke a standing ovation and an encore so I would never have to tear my eyes away from her graceful motions, from the long blonde locks that swayed gently with her movement, complimenting the lines her body drew in the air.

_So please, give me your hands_

_So please, just take my hand._

I wanted nothing more than that. What had transpired between Brittany and I was simple, simpler than I could have ever imagined. I had never known a love so pure, so untouched by the outside world. She had my hands. I had given them to her shakily, but without true reserve. Palms up, reaching toward her, I gave myself over, mind, body, heart, and soul. She had all of me resting on her fingertips, threatening to tip and spill over, leaving me as I was seven years ago. She had that power, and surprisingly, I wasn't the least bit afraid that she possessed the ability to break me.

Looking to my left, I saw Brittany's mother give me a nod and a genuine smile as she placed a hand on my back and lifted me upward. I gained my bearings before reaching underneath my seat and retrieving a bouquet of yellow roses. I made my way toward the edge of the stage amidst thunderous applause, focused only on making it toward the blonde whose features now encompassed a bright grin directed at me, the rest of the auditorium lost in the shuffle.

I placed the flowers onto the edge of the stage then stepped back shyly, as she walked downstage to pick them up. The audience was suddenly much quieter, either preparing to leave, or silently watching the exchange. Pulling herself to perch on the end of the stage, she picked up the roses and softly fingered the petals of one bud, closed tightly around itself.

"It makes me think of you," was all she managed to whisper. Clearing her throat, she continued, slowly, in a low voice unlike her own. "So afraid of the world, that she's closed herself off to everyone, like you were in high school. I hope she can realize that she is going to miss out on a lot if she doesn't let anyone see her petals."

"She realizes, just give her time Britt," I replied, in a voice matching her own volume. "Look a little closer." Tucked safely in the bud was a platinum diamond ring, a perfect fit to one of the slender fingers brushing gently across the petals. Carefully peering beneath the soft yellow covering, I continued to watch the blonde in front of me as her face transformed into one of disbelief. Her blue eyes, sparkling with the traces of unshed tears, sought out mine, and locked on them.

I had anticipated this moment for months, and now, faced with her beauty and shock, I was unable to voice but two words. "Marry me?"

_I'm thirty three for a moment,  
Still the man, but you see I'm a they  
A kid on the way  
A family on my mind_

Quietly taking in my surroundings, the four creamy yellow walls reflected off of the milky skin I had enclosed in my arms - four hands, twenty fingers, intertwined over a softly protruding stomach. The warmth enveloping the two, nearly three, of us mimicked the pureness and light I'd found in the woman resting comfortably in my lap almost two decades ago. Two thirds of my life had been dedicated to fufilling her every wish, hope, and dream, to brushing lips and wandering hands and stolen glances across rooms, to proving myself and my love for her over and over again, and it had brought us to this moment, this moment of sheer heaven.

Removing a hand to wrap it around her slender neck, I gently nudged her head downward with my fingertips, until her smooth skin was close enough for me to press my lips to her temple, sliding downward to meet her lips. Leaning her forehead to rest on mine, she ran a single digit across my cheek before placing another soft kiss against my mouth, an attempt at conveying how perfectly content she was in the moment, though she didn't need to. I smiled into the touch, realizing she'd fallen back into a familiar pattern since that night so long ago, still fresh in our minds, in the auditorium.

_Slipping the ring onto her finger, her lips met mine, mixing with the laughter of relief on my part, excitement on hers, and the salt of the tears we'd been unable to hold back. Pulling me closer, she slipped her left hand, now weighted by the most significant piece of jewelry I'd ever purchased, to cup my cheek, pulling back in confusion when I giggled into the embrace. _

"You still do it you know," I whispered, watching for the flash of blue that meant confusion, as my own eyes crinkled at the corners in laughter.

"Do what?"

"Absolutely everything with your left hand. You know, it was easier to hold hands across the table in restaurants when you were right handed," I replied with a wink, as a sheepish blush colored her freckled cheeks.

"I'm still amazed that you're here - that we're here. It's a reminder of how far we've come."

"As if the baby bump isn't enough?" The teasing tone in my voice was just enough to crack a grin and prevent her hormones from bringing her into yet another episode where she'd cry because she was '_just so damn happy._' Gently pulling her more closely, I set the rocker beneath us in motion, a nightly tradition we had already started, despite being twenty long weeks away from seeing the precious being curled underneath our fingertips, so close, yet seemingly so far away.

_I'm 45 for a moment_

_The sea is high_

_And I'm heading into a crisis_

_Chasing the years of my life_

The sound echoed like a gunshot, bouncing off of the walls in every room it seemed, repetition mocking our eardrums as the sound replayed over and over again. Resting my head in my hands as I leaned forward on my elbows, the cool surface of the kitchen counter caressing my admittedly overwarmed skin, a combination of frustration and mid-summer heat. A hand rested on my lower back, mimicking the circular motions I was employing on my temples.

"A boy-girl party? Britt, she's only twelve. Couldn't she just make my life easier and say she were a lesbian? I mean my parents were damn near ecstatic when they found out I wasn't going to be another teenage pregnancy statistic." Wrapping her arms around my waist and tucking her chin into the crevice of my neck, she shushed me quietly, pressing a soft kiss underneath my ear.

"It's in broad daylight, with a fun jump babe. I doubt she's going to get into too much trouble. The door slamming I could do without, but she's just as much your child Santana. You should have anticipated blow ups at this point. She's growing up. In two years, she'll be in - "

"Don't say it. Don't say the H word."

"Just go and talk to her, please. For me?" I turned toward my right, catching a glimpse of the pout that had managed to wrap any will power I had around slender, dexterous fingers. Sighing, I slipped out of her grasp, begrudgingly mounting the stairs, toward the second door on the left, victimized by raging hormones and my own admittedly, and apparently somewhat inheritable, volatile temper.

_Another blink of an eye_

_67 is gone_

_The sun is getting high_

_We're moving on_

Cradling the bundle in my arms, I couldn't help the grin plastered across my features, deepening the laugh lines engrained within every inch of my face. I remember years ago, I would fight those lines with every cream and serum I could find, until one morning I felt two warm arms wrap around my shoulders as I stood in front of the mirror, readying for work. Brittany casually traced the very faint lines across my forehead and in the corners of my eyes, smiling softly.

_They're wrinkles B, nothing to smile at_, but she didn't waver. She began naming each one after moments, simple moments we'd experienced - the night I proposed, our wedding, Emily's birth, and then Adam's, the brunch when Quinn and Rachel asked us to be godparents to their own daughter, our twentieth reunion at McKinley, when both of our children were married - the most beautiful seconds, minutes, hours, and days of our life together, and suddenly, the wrinkles I'd once fought so hard against seemed beautiful, memorable.

Holding this precious being, the continuation of the life I'd finally been brave enough to reach for, I knew I was in for years and years of more wrinkles - of laughter, and smiles, and beauty. Reaching forward, I saw still freckled hands, still softer than the sweetest of clouded daydreams, embraced by five tiny fingers, and looking up, glistening tears rested in the corners of the bright blue eyes I'd fallen into over and over again. Emily smiled lazily from the hospital bed, tired, but more content that I had ever seen her, and though her body was spent, exhausted beyond recognition, she was a perfectly compilated image of the two of us the day she was born. Long dark hair fell gently around her shoulders, coated by a thin sheen of sweat, as soft sapphire eyes sparkled above freckled cheekbones, unable to give in to her heavy eyelids, because of the surrealness of having her perfect baby boy in her arms.

_"She has your eyes," I whispered, curling into my wife's side._

_"That's about it," Brittany replied laughing. "Your hair, your nose, your ears. I guess we'll have to wait to find out if she tans or burns."_

_"No, absolutely not. Our baby girl cannot get a sunburn. I won't allow it. I won't allow anything to hurt her, ever."_

Standing slowly, the warm hand never leaving my back, I brought our first grandchild back to his mother, where he fell asleep quickly, thankful to be nestled next to the only body he'd known for nine months.

"I'm proud of you mija," I breathed, softly pressing my lips to her forehead as I brushed back a few strands of hair. "So unbelievably proud of you."

"Gracias Mami. Te amo."

_I'm 99 for a moment_

_Dying for just another moment_

_And I'm just dreaming_

_Counting the ways to where you are_

The soft pillows were nothing like the ones I'd fallen asleep on every night for nearly seventy years; I didn't know how to explain to the doctors that the only thing that would help was a scent, a scent that had eluded me for over ten years - soft white lily and the smell of summer showers. I could never pin down what it was that I missed most about Brittany, if it was that, or the blue of her eyes, that I'd yet to see replicated in anything other than our children, or her voice, her laugh, or her small touches, no matter where we were, just to remind me that she was still there, something I never grew tired of remembering. My chest ached the day I lost her, and the heaviness remained, long after the casket closed, right until this moment.

"Su mama me llama mija." _She's calling me. _

Our two children sat perfectly still, unsure of how to react. They'd lost one mother already, and although the doctors had told them repeatedly that I wouldn't last long, they knew I'd held on because Brittany had told me to, because she had told me she'd never forgive me if I gave up on life just because she had to leave me for a while.

_"We'll always find our way back together Santana. We always have, and we always will. So until the day that it's time for you to find me, and you'll know, I want you to live. I want you to live for Emily, and for Adam, for our grandkids, and our goddaughter, and for me. I'll be waiting. You know I'd wait forever." _

My chest was growing lighter with each breath, as her words echoed through my veins and muscles and bones.

"Es tiempo para usted regresar a casa Mami," Emily whispered. _It's time for you to go home. _My eyes fluttered shut, with a soft hand holding my own as my breathing evened, and the last reaches of oxygen filled my frame.

Opening my eyes, I was met with the same sapphire eyes our children had, with a different set of warm fingers entertwined within my own.

"I told you I'd wait forever."


End file.
